Nightmares and Playwrights
by Biscuits and Angels
Summary: Did you know Charlotte suffers from night terrors? Henry does.  Pointless drabble because Chenry needs love too. A very minor CP spoiler.


A/N;

**Just because there needs to be more Chenry out there.**

**Idk.**

...

_Nightmares and Playwrights._

The sun had slept for hours now, bathing the Institute in an uneasy darkness. Charlotte lay in the soft, warm mess of blankets and sheets that was her and Henry's bed, she had never been a fan of the darkness, it consumed everything, when she had been a child she'd had terrible nightmares, most nights she had woken her parent's up in the middle of the night screaming. They had never left her, just subsided; in fact, she had just awoken from one not a few minutes prior.

During her childhood, the night terrors were of her parent's, her little mind had seen them die many terrible deaths, each time it involved some element of darkness. The most distinctive memory Charlotte had of those dreams was the one of the green-eyed demon, with large pointy teeth that had ripped her mother to shreds.

Charlotte was later told that her mother had been killed by a green-eyed, pointy toothed demon. The fact she had seen how her mother had died in advance had unnerved her, even when she had been a child.

Tonight her dreams had been of Henry, her sweet, darling Henry. Just thinking of it made her shiver, the clockwork machines, watching him die, and she hadn't been able to do anything. She didn't know if they were figments of her terrible imagination. She just hoped they were; she loved nothing more than her Henry. She glanced to her left, where her husband slept, an arm tucked under his pillow, his mouth slightly parted. Charlotte gave a tired, little sigh, she probably wouldn't sleep again tonight, and moved closer, seeking his body heat, London was especially cold tonight and the fire in the hearth had long gone out, she dropped her head onto his chest and dangled her arm over his ribcage, wiggled until she was as close as her rounded stomach would let her. Listening to the soft rhythmic thump of Henry's heartbeat eased her fears. Letting her eyes droop, inwardly smiling as he let out a soft snore, the baby chose that moment to aim a kick to her ribs, and she groaned, muffled against Henry's chest.

Henry's soft snore ended in a splutter, and he moved under Charlotte, she sensed that he was waking and rubbed his chest.

"Did I wake you?" She asked softly.

"No." He replied, croakily, she could sense the smile in his voice though. The baby sprang another kick to her insides, "That did."

She clutched his nightshirt and chuckled into his side.

"When I came up from the crypt earlier..." He hesitated, brushing back a loose tendril of her dark hair, "You were fidgeting. I was going to wake you, but you seemed to have calmed down when I sat on the bed, was it a nightmare?"

Charlotte had told him of her nightmares once; she took a deep breath but said nothing.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She decisively changed the subject, "I love you."

"Hmm..." She looked up and met his eyes, they were a brilliant hazel, and somehow told her that he had surmised the dream to be about him. "What happened, darling?"

She buried her face in his chest again, "It was nothing."

"I'm sure it was, Charlotte." He replied, "It was about me?"

She nodded, "Really, Henry, we should go back to sleep."

He prodded again, "I died, didn't I?"

She nodded and sighed.

"The Cycle of Life," He began solemnly, "Begrudgingly I admit, it is a vicious one, but I am not afraid of death, darling, nor should you be afraid to lose me, it is inevitable."

"Oh, Henry." She sighed, closing her eyes, not matter what he said she would always be afraid. "It is much too early for wisdom."

"Maybe I could use that line in a play." He pondered aloud; she rolled her eyes, "Charlotte, I could be the next Shakespeare."

"You obviously haven't been getting enough sleep."

"Are you saying I'd be a bad playwright?" He pouted, she laughed at the expression.

"I'm sure you'd be wonderful, darling."

"I know sarcasm when I hear it."

"Only if you're paying proper attention." She replied haughtily, "What of your inventions anyway, are you going to throw them away to take up your new career as the modern Shakespeare?"

"I could use them as props; my tales will be of brilliant inventors, using their intelligence to save their damsels in distress."

"Ah, so you'd write romance." She grinned boldly, meeting his eyes again, which were full of humour. "Would there been love scenes?"

He thought for a moment, "Well, I believe I would need to further my knowledge in that area if I were to add it into my play." With that he tackled her playfully, and pressed a kiss to her lips. Charlotte just giggled; he'd made her forget all about the terrors of the night.

...

A/N;

**Seriously though.**

**Bring on the Charlotte-Henry love guys.**


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